Blind Mary.

A poem by Thomas Osborne Davis

Air--Blind Mary.


There flows from her spirit such love and delight,
That the face of Blind Mary is radiant with light--
As the gleam from a homestead through darkness will show
Or the moon glimmer soft through the fast falling snow.


Yet there's a keen sorrow comes o'er her at times,
As an Indian might feel in our northerly climes!
And she talks of the sunset, like parting of friends,
And the starlight, as love, that not changes nor ends.


Ah! grieve not, sweet maiden, for star or for sun,
For the mountains that tower or the rivers that run--
For beauty and grandeur, and glory, and light,
Are seen by the spirit, and not by the sight.


In vain for the thoughtless are sunburst and shade,
In vain for the heartless flowers blossom and fade;
While the darkness that seems your sweet being to bound
Is one of the guardians, an Eden around!

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